


The Perfect Heresy

by Merick



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merick/pseuds/Merick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having just dealt with the betrayal of MiLady has left Athos raw. When a Winter Storm interferes with a journey home after a mission, and a mysterious woman is thrown into the mix, Athos must make decisions about moving on with his life, and about the direction it will have to take. Can an ice storm melt a frozen heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Heresy

Athos POV  
It wasn’t hard to see that a storm was coming, bad enough that the chill wind bit through our cloaks and reddened our faces as we rode through the thick air trying to reach Paris before the heavens opened up over us, pelting us with something guaranteed to be more difficult to traverse than mere snow flakes. We were traversing the region of Burgundy, a province of our beloved France, and our king, returning from a journey to deliver the King’s Papers, a task entrusted to us, and not the Red Guard, likely because they were too soft to have accomplished such a thing in the depths of winter; whereas we were eager (well perhaps not too eager) to volunteer. The Garrison was warm(ish) and secure from the weather, but offered little distraction beyond the training of soldiering. And the surrounding taverns offered only alcohol, and forbidden conflict, such as intoxication often brings, but none of us were too eager to escape our memories in drink. A hard ride and the purpose of a mission were just what we all needed to take our minds off of the losses of the previous months. And I will say no more about those things.   
It should have been a simple task, ride out, ride back, enjoy the lodgings at the court of Burgundy for an evening, perhaps some of their famous coq-au-vin, and a touch of the vin on its own, a different locale could do wonders for the soul. Of course, nothing is simple, not when it comes to the Musketeers.  
Our horses’ hooves thundered against the earth, echoing off the low clouds as the sun (which couldn’t actually be seen) set, turning grey skies to black. I expected no other noises but our own, especially with the threatening weather. But I was wrong. A gunshot rang out in front of us, and the screams of a horse and rider. We spurred our mounts on towards the fray and came upon a sight that sadly was not new to us. One rider, surrounded by four others, encircled beyond escape as the brigands closed the circle, guns drawn.  
“Ho there!” I called out, five faces turning towards us, meeting our grins and our own outstretched firearms.  
“Please help me!” The middle rider called, the feminine voice was unexpected, but served to strengthen our resolve.  
“Ride on!” The one who must have been the ringleader called back to me. “This is none of your concern.”  
“Any men who would menace a lone woman are most certainly our concern!” I replied, perhaps not so calmly.  
Guns were pointed at us and fired, but we were already charging forward, the brigands scattered and we pursued them. To my surprise, and perhaps my brothers’ the men were trained in their weapons, and once their firearms were expended they dismounted, swords drawn. We were forced to do likewise. The sound of blade on blade rang out through the forest. The ground was slick with the snow that had fallen previously, and the cold dulled precise grips on our blades, but we fought on. One was dispatched, then a second, and a third. Searching for the forth as the twilight overtook us we found him, astride the lady’s horse, clasping her about the waist, her hood fallen away from her head, a blade at her throat.   
“Back away!” He called to us, “She is mine!”  
We all stopped, but did not lower our blades.  
“Seems to me,” Porthos began, “There are four of us, and only one of you.”  
“But I have the prize.” He replied.  
I looked at the woman, her eyes were fixed forward, and her lips pursed together, knees tight to the flanks of her horse, one hand grasping the reigns, stock still, except for a flutter of her cloak, so slight that few might have noticed it.   
“Turn the horse and we will ride woman!” Even with the order barked in her ear she did not flinch, only moved her left hand to guide the horse a little sideways, perhaps to mask her movements. His next utterance though, was not an order, it was a yelp, and we watched him crumple from the mount a shinny blade protruding from under his ribs.  
“Sacre Coeur.” That was Aramis. “Well done Madam.”  
I approached slowly, assured he was dead, removed the blade, wiping it clean on his cloak, and handed it back to the rider.  
“Madam.” She slid from her horse, lighting on the ground quietly.  
“Thank you so much gentlemen for your help, I fear that without your arrival I would most surely have been a captive right now.”  
It was at that point that d’Artagnan crumpled to the ground.  
The bite of the cold was as harsh as that of a sword it seemed, and d’Artangnan had not even realized that he had suffered the wound, quickly attended by us all it was clear to that though the cold would slow the bleeding, that he needed proper attention and warmth, such as could not be given in the twilight. Our newest group member produced bandages from her saddlebags and quickly bound d’Artagnan’s side.  
“We must ride on for home!” I commanded, looking around for the horses, but I could see only three of our previous five. My horse was easily the strongest of the clutch and so I handed the reigns to Porthos, the strongest man among us.  
“You will take d’Artangnan and ride for Paris, outrun the storm, or find proper shelter before then. Aramis, you will ride as their guard.” I took up the weakened body of my friend as Porthos set himself in the saddle, and handed d’Artagnan up into strong arms.   
“But what about you Athos?” Aramis was about to argue with me. I wish I could say that I silenced his outburst with a look, but in truth it was she who stopped him.  
“I will stay with him, if he cannot find your missing horses we will have my mount to follow you.” Her voice was quiet but determined in its tone. It seemed a reasonable plan.  
“As Madam says.”  
“Mademoiselle.” She corrected me, also quietly.  
“Go, please, d’Artagnan needs to be out of the cold.”  
“I’m coming back for you as soon as we get him tended to.” Porthos told me, I agreed and my companions rode off, leaving me with Mademoiselle on the road, one horse between us, and darkness making the shadows grow long, the thickened clouds boding quite ill for the weather. 

The other horses proved much more difficult to locate, and after calling about for a few minutes I realized that I was wasting what little light and hospitable weather was left. I helped Mme’selle back up into the saddle and swung myself in behind her wrapping my arms around her sides to grasp the reigns. The extra weight did not make for rapid progress, but we set out in the direction of Paris, and my companions. Darkness enveloped us long before the lights of any structures showed themselves. It became quite obvious that we needed some type of shelter as a cold rain began to pound down from the sky, as if God himself had tipped over a bucket. We were sodden in minutes the cold air beginning to freeze the moisture against our skin, and I urged the horse off the track we had been following into a denser section of the forest, hoping that whatever canopy left over from the fall might shelter us somewhat.   
It brought us a little time, but Mme’selle was beginning to shiver against me, and I admit to feeling that same cold seeping into my bones. I tried to pull my cloak around her, for what little waterproofing it offered. She extended her hand beyond it and I followed towards where she was pointing. It was overgrown, but it was a hut of some sort, with a small lean-too stable right alongside it that offered at least three solid-looking walls for the horse, we turned to it. It took only a few moments to relieve the beast of her saddlebags, and saddle, which I stored within the building, and only a few more to ensure that she was safe from the rain by way of some old bales of straw and bundles of branches. She seemed to have no desire to venture out again, but I did loop her bridle around a convenient post in the absence of a gate to keep her in. We could not do with losing another horse.  
Luck seemed to be with us though, as the hut was rather sturdy for something that had been abandoned for quite awhile it seemed. There was nothing by the way of blankets, but there was a solid looking fireplace, and a small stack of wood, (with some decrepit furniture as well should the wood run out). I laid my cloak down in front of the hearth and worked to build a fire to warm and dry us both off as the now freezing rain pounded against the roof, small droplets raising clouds of dust on the floor as they seeped through the rushes and beams; until it turned to mud that was. At least the wood had stayed dry and it took to flame quickly. I was not keen to attract attention to our location; I had no idea if there were other highwaymen looking for shelter in the forest, but I had little choice, we needed the warmth. I kept my sword within reach.  
As I fed the flames as sparingly as I could manage, not wanting to commit all our fuel too quickly, Mme’selle stripped off her cloak laying it over a fragmented chair and began to unpack her saddlebags.   
“I haven’t much, but I hope you will share it with me good sir.”  
“Athos. My name is Athos.”  
“I am called Gwyneth, and I am most happy to make your acquaintance Seigneur Athos.”  
“I have no need of titles Mme’selle, just Athos.” I replied quietly, not wanting to offend her, but not wanting any reminders of another life.  
“I must offer you my thanks Athos for all the help you have given me this day, you and your friends. I hope the cost has not been too severe.”  
“d’Artagnan? The wound was not terribly grievous I think, and the cold will certainly slow any serious complications; but him having been caught in this frozen rain, that would certainly not have done him well.”  
“I shall pray for him none the less. And we shall share this small meal together I hope, and sustain ourselves so that we might rejoin your friends on the morrow.” She held out a loaf of dark bread towards me.  
“We shall Gwyneth.” I took the loaf from her and broke it in half, returning the larger half to her. A linen wrapped package was unfolded next, with a block of cheese exposed. My knife, having not just stabbed a man, was used to section it to share with the bread. The small fire made the room warmer, and the scant light made it feel close and safe. My bones were finally beginning to thaw as my clothing dried. I watched her carefully break off chunks of the bread, taking it to her mouth, all in silence. She did not seem frightened of me or of the silence between us, but for myself, I preferred a conversation just then, to keep my mind from wandering.  
“If I might ask, Gwyneth, how do you find yourself travelling alone on such an inhospitable night?”  
“I was forced to set out without much preparation, and I had hoped to reach Paris in only a few days.”  
“And from whence did you travel?”  
“From the Languedoc Region.”   
“Quite a ride for a lone traveller.”  
“There was no one to ride with me I am afraid.” Her lips pursed together and she let her hands fall into her lap. It seemed obvious that I was getting to the heart of the matter that had put her on our path.  
“But you are not completely unprepared it seems?”  
“My Father and my Brothers insisted that I learn to defend myself. I am glad for those lessons now.”  
“And why did one of them not ride with you?”  
“Because they are dead.”  
I had not expected quite that answer; I thought perhaps she was trying to escape a forced marriage or a life of servitude. Instantly regretting my inquiry I offered an apology.  
“I am sorry.”  
“You did not kill them, you should not be sorry.” Her answer was hard, I suspect that she had spent much of her ride steeling her heart against the misery it must have been feeling.  
“Never the less, I can be sorry that you were left alone in this world.”  
She smiled, though she could not look at me.  
“You are a kind man Athos.” She took another bite of the bread and chewed slowly.  
“Is that why you fled, because of what happened to your family?”  
“I had hoped to lose myself in Paris. You live there Athos. Is it possible, to blend, to hide oneself amongst the masses?” Her hands twisted in her skirts.  
“Hide from the men who pursued you?”  
“And those who sent them against my family.”  
“Paris is certainly a place where you may hide. But must you? I am one of the King’s Musketeers, we could offer you protection?”  
“I do not even know the faces of the men who would hunt me, and I could not put you or your friends at further risk defending me from ghosts. I would be a prisoner, and I would choose death over a cage.”  
“I don’t understand why anyone would wish to harm you. What could a gentle soul such as yourself have done to deserve such a punishment?” All I knew of her was how she had been attacked, and how she had come to d’Artagnan’s aide without any hesitancy.  
She finally looked up at me; she had the most beautiful green eyes, so pale as to be haunting. Tears glazed them over with a sheen that caught the firelight, making her seem all the more miserable.  
“A familial sin it seems.” Her voice was wavering, her practiced control falling apart.  
“Again, you have my sympathy. And whatever help you will have from me.”  
“So kind, and gracious.” She whispered. 

 

She had fallen into an uneasy sleep in front of the fire, wrapped in her now dry cloak. I watched her toss about, and her eyes flit back and forth beneath closed lids. I tried to keep the fire burning so that at least she would be warm if not peaceful. I had to wonder what terrible things she had seen to cause such disturbances to her mind that even sleep could not banish them. Outside the hut the rain had continued to fall, battering the sides of the structure and the surrounding forest. The sound of crackling outside had started some time around midnight, a most eerie sound that filled me with dread. The first horrendous ‘snap’ startled us both, waking Gwyneth from sleep; it was followed in quick succession by several other cracks and subsequent crashes. Those green eyes were now wide as they stared at me.  
“What is that?”   
I had to admit that I was not entirely certain.  
“It sounds as if God himself is snapping the bones of giants outside.” I moved closer to where she had sat up.  
“I believe that those are trees breaking.”  
“But why would trees break?”  
“I think they are frozen and the wind is strong enough to snap them.”  
My assessment had turned out to be correct, though I did not know for certain till the following morning when I could see for myself the tangle of limbs lying on the ground. Indeed, as she had said, it looked as if God or some giant had broken them as easily as a man might break twigs for kindling.  
With every new noise that night though, her small body shook, and so I took the chance and wrapped my arms about her, hoping that she would not mind the intimacy. I pulled my cloak over us both and felt her rest her head against my shoulder, trembling.  
“I promise that we are safe here, there were no large trees over this home, the land was cleared, even if they snap all around us nothing will harm this roof or the walls.”  
I felt her head nod against me, but I also felt the moisture of her tears against my skin. She continued to tremble.  
“Are you cold.”  
“No Athos.”  
“Do I frighten you then Mme’selle?”  
“You are a noble man are you not Athos?”  
“I am Mme’selle.”  
“Therefore I will not fear you.”  
“Then what do you fear?”  
“I fear not seeing the morning.”  
I clutched her tighter to my chest and felt her finally relax against me, the shaking slowing until it finally halted. I whispered to her.  
“I promise you that we will both see the morning.” And then, for reasons yet unknown to me, I pressed a small kiss against her head. She did not pull away from me, but instead threaded her smaller hand into mine and held it tightly as she let her breathing slow. Neither of us slept for very long, though we stayed wrapped together till the fire was barely embers, and only then did I let her rest carefully against my cloak, not the dirt floor, as I added a little more wood and went to the entryway to see what the barely risen sun would show me of the day.  
It was a wonder.  
It was if the entire world had been dipped in ice, every surface, tree, building, bush, blade of dead grass was crystalized. The risen sun sparkled off of every facet, it seemed as if I had stepped into a fairy world. The delicate crackling of tiny branches snapping off to fall to the ground, only to meet more ice, was musical. The fog of my breath only added to the ethereal vision. I would not have been at all surprised to see a unicorn prance by or an angel land in front of me; but perhaps it was best that they didn’t. I tested the ground just beyond the overhang of the doorway, it was as slick as a frozen pond.  
“Athos?” The voice from within the dwelling was small and frightened sounding. I turned back to see her rising from her place by the fire.  
“I’m here, you must come and see this Gwyneth, it is amazing.” I held out my hand to her.  
Her skin was warm, and her hand felt so solid in mine. I could not help but smile at her, just the sight of the natural wonder around us had filled me with a reverence that I could not immediately explain. Those beautiful green eyes took in the crystalline world, sparkling as brightly as the trees. The smile that grew on her face was dazzling.  
“I told you that we would live to see morning Gwyneth.”  
“Oh Athos, it is incredible.”  
“Isn’t it?”  
“Even the broken branches upon the ground look like the Queen’s jewels must.” She stepped forward onto the sheet of ice and slipped forward. With my one hand still in hers, I threw my other arm around her waist and pulled her back towards me, arresting her fall to the ground, and precipitating one into my chest. She allowed me to hold her weight there as she caught her breath; though it went from a deep indrawn one as she felt her feet going out from under her, to far shorter, more rapid ones. I felt her drop my grip and wrap her arms over my back, holding herself to me. She looked up into my face.  
“Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen Athos?”  
“Not even by half.” I murmured back to her, unable to take my eyes off her smile and innocent gaze. I felt my own breaths to be suddenly matching hers in their stuttered escape from my throat.   
“Athos?” The entreaty was quiet, her lips remaining parted after she had spoken, her grip on my back suddenly lax, though her nearness to me seemed intensified. I leaned my face down and pressed my mouth to hers firmly. Her hand looped around my neck and held me there.  
Her mouth was soft and willing as she matched the force I put upon her, allowing me to part those beautiful lips and venture within to meet and dance with her tongue, a delicate moan adding to the music of nature. Her body was just as pliant as I pulled her backwards into the shelter, kissing her hard as I turned her about and laid her down upon my cloak, still spread out before the small fire. Untying her cloak from around her neck I pressed my mouth to the bare skin there, fingers working at loosening the bodice of her dress even as she arched her body towards my hunger.  
“Athos.” She gasped out on a breath. “Show me what I should do.”  
It was as if I had been hit by one of those falling branches, I realized what I was doing and I pulled away from her.  
“Gwyneth?” Every part of my body was protesting the separation I had put between us. “You are?” I couldn’t even say the word.  
“Athos?” She sat up, pain and confusion in her face. “Have I done something wrong?”  
“No, no Mme’selle, it is I who have done something wrong. I profess to have honor and yet,” I could not finish the sentence. I had only just met this woman, spent one night holding her in my arms against the storm, and I had transferred my loneliness onto her, and nearly, oh God, nearly.  
“But Athos? You have done nothing wrong, I want this, I want you.” The pleading nearly broke my already fragile heart.  
“Please, don’t misunderstand Mme’selle.”  
“Will you not even call me by my name any longer Athos?” She reached out to touch my hand, I could not pull it away from her.  
“Gwyneth. How could I do this to you? Here, on the hard ground, barely a fire to keep you warm, nothing soft to wrap you in. You should be treated as a lady, nothing less.” She stilled my words by pressing her lips to mine in a simple kiss. I could feel the tears on my face and I wondered if some were not my own.  
“I do want you Gwyneth. God forgive me, I want you so badly. But I will not dishonor you like this.” And in complete discord to what I had just said I pulled her into my arms and showered her face with kisses, brushing away the tears with my thumbs, tangling my fingers through her hair, holding her to me far closer than I should have until my pounding heart finally slowed.  
“You are a noble man Athos, let no one tell you otherwise. But I am no lady, far from it. I was raised with four brothers, by a blacksmith father, in a town with a single well in the town square. I grew up learning to care for us and our home and believed that I would do so until the day I died.”  
“Then what happened Gwyneth?”  
“My father had a secret; the burden of which he could not carry.”  
“Please tell me.”  
“Perhaps it would be better to show you.”  
She reached into the folds of her skirt and pulled out a coin, holding it out to me.  
“Do you know what this is?” She asked.  
I had heard tell of such things but had never seen one, nor had I ever thought I would. The stories were told more as myth than history, yet here was the proof that there had in fact been some truth, if not complete truth to the tales I had heard in my childhood.  
“Cathar gold?”  
“You know the stories then?”  
“That the dualists were rooted out and destroyed, but that their reputed hoards of treasures were never discovered, much to the chagrin of the Monarchy and the Catholic Church.”  
“Much of it was moved overseas prior to the crusade against the Cathar people, those pieces that held special meaning, symbols, icons. But those things that could be converted, currencies, gems, such things were left behind in caches, locations known only to select prefects, knowledge passed down within families, awaiting safety. My family was one such family, my father the keeper.”  
I was stunned to hear such revelations.  
“My father was only human though, with human failings. And though he was not greedy he convinced himself that enough time had passed, and that the stories must surely have been forgotten, and that it would do no harm to retrieve some of the treasure, just to make our lives a little easier. He wanted new horses, more expensive materials for his forge, a greater reputation for finer products.”  
“And so he unearthed the treasure?”  
“He brought home only a small fraction of it, but spent a little too liberally, a little too quickly. He bought the attention he was seeking, but it did not manifest as he had hoped.”  
“Thieves came?”  
“More than thieves, zealots, inquisitors. He and my brothers were tortured, I listened to every scream, felt every wound, but none of them gave up their secrets; my father understood then, and found his courage then. Though his misstep cost him his life, and cost my brothers’ theirs.”  
“How did you escape?”  
“A few minutes of warning, and I was hidden away under the house, a disguised cellar my father had built to hide his greatest treasures, and his sins. It was accessed below the forge, not a place anyone would think to look. I waited through the horror till all was silent, and then I waited longer, perhaps a day down there, watching the darkness come and go, and come again. I cried all my tears down there. When I emerged I brought with me the remains of the treasure. I closed the eyes of my brothers and my father and said my goodbyes to them. I packed a bag with enough provisions for the ride and then I freed all the horses but one. I set a few candles with oil soaked rags about them in the house and prayed for mercy and flame, then set out for Paris. I hope that my family have all found their peace by now and that no one will return to disturb the ruins of them.”  
I felt cold, despite the warmth of the fire and the rising sun.  
“Those men who attacked you, they were looking for the treasure?” She nodded.  
“I do not want to even imagine what might have befallen me had you and your friends not happened upon us.”  
Neither did I.  
“And now I have given you my life Athos. I am sorry for the burden. You may take me to Paris and deliver me to your Cardinal, where I will be denounced as a witch, tortured and killed because I will not betray all those who have died before me.” She waited for my answer, her lips pursed together, yet still trembling, eyes filling over again with tears.  
“No. No, I will not betray you.” I curled her hand around the coin. “Not for a long dead myth. Hide this, hide all of these, I will take you to Paris, and I will ensure your safety. If your life is mine I will protect it as my own, I swear it.” I pulled her against my chest, and held her there for a great long while, until our peace was disturbed by a familiar voice, yelling my name. I would have recognized Porthos’ deep baritone anywhere. He had returned to find us as he had promised. And he had brought transportation.  
I was not used to seeing Porthos driving horses, but there he was, at the reins of huge plow horse pulling a cart, breaking through the ice covered ground, flattening a path with heavy footfalls and wide wheels. He waved with his genuine, gleeful smile as we emerged from the farmhouse.  
“Athos! Mademoiselle! I see you found luxurious accommodations for the night as well.” He leapt down from his seat and clapped me around the shoulder, bowing his neck to Gwyneth. She covered her blush gracefully with her left hand as he took her right and kissed it.  
“And what of d’Artangnan?” I asked.  
“He is well, likely taking the attentions of the ladies at the Inn where we found shelter, pretending that his blow was nearly mortal when in truth it was little more than a scratch.”  
“Good to hear.”  
“Let me deliver you two to a proper meal and to warm water then. Mme’selle, if I might offer you a hand up to ride?”  
We packed up the saddlebags, tethered Gwyneth’s horse to the back of the cart, and taking my place beside Porthos on the seat. I turned back as we drove away to see that Gwen had curled herself into her cloak, and with her head on a pile of straw, had fallen asleep.

Part 2  
It seemed my brothers had found themselves a very comfortable place to weather the ice storm, it had been an hour’s ride away on their fast horses, so the trip with the plough horse took quite a bit longer, with our arrival at midday. I had to see to d’Artagnan first, despite Porthos’ description of the wound as minimal I knew better. Aramis had stitched the wound with his usual skill, and the boy was sitting up in bed, enjoying an ale and a plate of bread and cheese, offered to him by the Innkeeper’s wife (his daughter having been, no doubt, warned away by her father). Porthos was kind enough to see to a room for Gwyneth while I settled the debts they had incurred, specifically with the famer who had been kind enough to ‘loan’ his horse and wagon to Porthos for our retrieval. The monies owed at the Inn were likewise settled, with the rooms secured for another night as it seemed we would be staying until the sun further melted the roads back to Paris and made it safe for our much smaller horses to travel without fear of injury. All of this, unfortunately had taken a great deal of time and though I tried to maintain a polite conversation with the Inn Keeper and the farmer, and then my companions who were enjoying their own meal in the tavern, my mind was on Gwyneth’s safety.   
“So, you spent the night with the beautiful Mme’selle then did you Athos? Holed up in tiny hut with only your bodies to keep you warm?” Porthos’ bawdy tone was unappreciated and fortunately I only had to indicate this with my look and clenched jaw. He backed down, hiding behind a glass of ale.   
“She is as innocent now as when we met her.” I whispered under my breath, as much to reassure myself as them. I knew that Porthos had not meant any offense by the remark, such banter was common in the barracks, and Porthos and Aramis were no saints when it came to liaisons. They had often tried to draw me into similar interludes with willing ladies, but I had no stomach for such things. With all those thoughts clouding my reason, I had to excuse myself from their company.  
With their eyes following me (and I not caring), I went directly up the stairs and knocked on Gwyneth’s door. She opened it just a little, and recognizing me, she smiled softly.  
“I was hoping that I would see you again today Athos. Won’t you please come in?” Stepping backwards she swung the door open, partially shielding herself from me as she did. I ventured inside to see her fully, clad only in her white shift. With more force than was likely required I closed the door to the hallway, I did not want anyone else to happen upon us in such a situation.  
“My sincere apologies Mme’selle.” I stuttered, staring at ground, as much as I wanted to look at her, at those soft curves under the fabric of which I had only caught the scarcest glimpse. “I should go and let you dress properly.”  
“I was just about to. The Innkeeper’s wife brought me some water and a fresh shift, I only wanted to wash away the remnants of the road.”  
“It seems someone else has brought you a meal as well.” There was a tray upon a small side table with the remains of some roasted poultry and root vegetables.   
“Your friend Aramis brought it earlier.”   
“I am glad to see that you have been well cared for then. Perhaps I should go?” I didn’t want to, but I felt a bitterness rising in my throat that I did not want her to see or hear further in my gestures or words. The thought that I had not attended to her, or that Aramis had seen her thusly, made me feel ill; a good portion of that bile from my own revulsion at myself for my pettiness, and not trusting her or my friend.  
“Please don’t leave me here alone Athos, I have missed you. Am I so silly then, is it so hard to be in the same room with me, or to look at me?”  
“It isn’t hard at all.” I turned my head towards her again. God help me, she was so beautiful. And every emotion and desire from the night before flooded back to me. She hesitantly crossed to my arms and I took her to my chest gladly and kissed her, very softly, sharing breath after breath with her as her hands tugged at my shirttails.   
“Are you certain this is what you want.” I whispered into her ear.  
“Have you not provided all your conditions Athos?” She smiled up at me. “You have delivered a soft bed, the heat of the fire, solid walls against the storm, and your arms to keep me warm.”  
It was all my heart needed. I ungirded my sword belt even as I kissed her again, laying it on the small washstand when I paused for a breath, threw my cloak over the footboard and pulled my shirt off over my head. Her hands were warm on my skin as she ran them over my chest, curling her body against mine.   
“I have many scars Gwen.”  
“We all do Athos, those that are visible and those that are not. But together, this day, we will sooth each others’.”   
In a moment she had pulled loose the ribbon at her neck and the white shift pooled to the ground around her feet. I reached back to ensure the door was locked, hardly willing to take my eyes from the sight of her body; she blushed, no doubt at my stunned expression, then smiled.  
“God, you are so beautiful and I am so unworthy of you.” Even as my words spoke of reluctance my motions did otherwise and I wrapped her face tenderly in my callused hands, kissing her as I pushed my body against hers. Her hands, so bold, wrenched at my waistband, a giggle escaping her throat as she sought to undress me. I snaked my right hand down her side, slowly, reveling in the smooth skin beneath it. With a jerk I had the fastenings of my trousers undone and I pushed them over my hips to the floor, where they promptly caught up on my boots. With my own laugh I realized I was quite hobbled, and so I twisted myself to sit on the edge of the bed to yank off my boots, tossing them away to land with a thud against the wall. Relieved of all encumbrances I pulled her, squealing onto my lap, then rolled to place her beneath me atop the worn blanket. Capturing her mouth I demonstrated my passions to her, my hands roaming over her body, my mouth following. Down the column of her neck I left slow kisses, my hands daring to cup her breasts, hold them, feel their weight and warmth before I lavished attention upon them, kissing, pulling, teasing as she arched her hips against mine, furthering my needs. I felt her hands wrap themselves around my shoulders where she traced her fingers over the cuts of the muscles and the scars from many a sword blow when I was too young and inexperienced to know to never turn my back on my enemy.  
When her hands drifted to my hips and began to trace inwards between us I had to leave off my ministrations and rest my head against her chest, breathing heavily in anticipation of what was to come.  
As she drew ever closer I used the flat of my palm along the same places on her, resting on her hip, curling downwards, spreading her legs that I might nestle myself comfortably between them. Then gently, cautiously, I brushed my finger over her most intimate places. She moaned as slowly as my movements, pushing herself against me, allowing me to explore.  
“I will not hurt you. I swear it. You must tell me to stop if you feel pain. I can have no pleasure if you do not.”  
“I crave your every touch Athos. Bring yourself to me.”  
Running a hand down her leg, I bent it at the knee, opening her body to me, and I did as she asked, bringing my body to her sheath, gently pressing into her. The grip of her body around mine begged for my motions to increase, my primitive mind, intoxicated by the sensations, craved more intensity, but I held back, knowing that to unleash those desires would surely tear her delicate skin and turn our intimacy to agony.   
“Athos, my angel, please.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. To look at her face there was no pain, only pleasure in closed eyes, parted lips and her ivory skin. I chanced to rock a little faster, her fingers dug into the skin of my back, and it was my turn to moan, and then, after a few more moments, to cry out, my low voice matching her higher pitched one as her body gripped mine, drawing over me, pulling my little death into her own. I collapsed beside her, clutching at her body, holding it against mine as both our chests heaved in exhaustion, our lips parted with smiles, eyes open, gazing at each other.  
“I do not know that I have ever felt such happiness.” She whispered to me, taking a small kiss from my mouth before curling her head onto my chest. “Your heart beats with the power of a lion my angel.”  
Letting my hand drift down to her breast I felt for her heartbeat as well.  
“And yours beats as does a little rabbit’s.”  
“And the both of us hidden away in this hedge.”   
“Where I will always protect you my little one.”  
With a bit of twisting I pulled the blanket over both our bodies and we rested, listening to each other’s heartbeats until they returned to closest semblance of normal they were going to reach.

 

I could not remember a time when I had felt so happy, when I gave myself permission to think of nothing dire, to leave the worries of my duty behind, to leave my past behind. It was bliss to lie there with her in my arms, just breathing, and pressing small kisses against her skin. Sadly though, my condition was betrayed by the loud grumbling of my stomach, as I had not stopped to take a meal that whole day. Gwen became quite concerned, and upset at herself.  
“Athos, I have been so selfish, I should have ensured that you were as well cared for as I. I will go down to the tavern and fetch you something to eat.” She sat up and swung her legs out from under the covers of the bed.  
“You needn’t be fetching such things for me.” I laid my hand on her wrist.   
“Perhaps we should go down together?”  
“The people in the Inn may speak unkindly of you if they see us together Gwen. I would not have your reputation damaged by my stomach.”  
“By the truth, by their archaic morals?” Her voice stayed even, but I could see the sadness she was hiding by the way her lips turned down. “They may judge me as they see fit, it only serves to judge themselves.”  
I laughed, she had such courage, such confidence within such a gentle demeanor.   
“I will have enough to hide once I reach Paris, need I hide this as well?” She grasped my hand. “Will this truth damage your reputation Athos? Shall I stay in the shadows for your wellbeing? For I will, I would never bring harm to you.”  
I brought our entwined hands up to my lips and kissed her fingers one by one.  
“To be at your side would never cause me harm, though I fear the inverse may not be as true.”  
“Then sadly we are a good match, for I will always have the same fears that my presence will bring danger. But you must eat, no matter what fears we have. I imagine your friends will be close, and words shall never hurt me.”  
“How can I say no to you then?”

Part 3  
There were stares, but few truly audible words as we came down the stairs; in fact most of the patrons took only a passing notice of us, too caught up in their own business to be bothered by another set of travellers waiting out the ice. Only my companions smiled at us, knowing the truth most likely, but keeping it to themselves. Aramis slid over on the bench he was occupying to make room for Gwen with a great smile upon his face, and I fetched an unused chair from a nearby table to sit myself beside her at the head of the table, and properly introduced my friends.  
A girl appeared with two extra tankards and left them on the table. Porthos made to fill Gwen’s first but she placed her hand atop it and politely declined.  
“I’m sorry, I don’t drink ale.”  
“I could have the girl find you some wine then?” He offered, making to flag the girl back to our table.  
“I don’t drink wine or spirits either. I fear that I would not be able to keep my head clear were I to imbibe.”  
I had no such concerns and took a long draught from the mug. It was good to have something in my belly, even if its effects were that much more pronounced because of the lack of food.  
“Beautiful,” Aramis leaned in towards Gwen, “good with a blade” (he whispered that statement) “and no vices, I think I’m in love.”  
“I didn’t say that I had no vices good sir.”  
Aramis clapped a hand to his chest in mock agony.  
“Ah, tragedy, you are taken by the dice and the cards are you then?”  
She laughed, truly laughed, it was a wondrous sound, like the bells of Notre Dame it made my skin tremble.  
“Yet another pursuit you will have to enjoy by yourself good sir.” Her curled up grin was so bright on her face.  
“Then it must be riches and fine linens for you, and jewels.”  
“None of those either.”  
“Rich food, cakes and sweets?” Porthos asked, inserting himself into the game.  
“Not with that figure.” Aramis answered for her, his own grin growing.  
“Will you then tell us Mme’selle, and put us out of our misery?” Porthos requested.  
She motioned them in towards the table, meaning to speak in a hushed voice.  
“I like to dance.” She whispered. Both men burst into laughter.  
“Well, you’ll find little with that type of skill amongst the Musketeers Mme’selle. We’re good with soldiering, and riding and shooting, but there’s little time for frolicking around on a dance floor.”  
“Speak for yourself Porthos.” Aramis chimed up, “I have a great lightness on my feet.”  
“Both left ones?” Porthos said with a smirk as he took another gulp of his ale.  
“Well, Athos can dance, he used to be a gentleman before he fell in with our rowdy lot.”  
She turned to look at me.  
“It has been a great many years since I have danced Mme’selle. I fear any attempt would crush your dainty feet and ruin your shoes.”  
“I don’t suppose there will be much opportunity once I get to Paris anyways. It is a thing for the campagne and the courts, neither of which I will see much of I think.”  
“So you are travelling to Paris then? Have you family there?” Aramis had not quite given up his flirtatious ways, though I was beginning to believe that he had no other ways of conversing with women.  
“No family I’m afraid.”  
“Friends then?”  
“No one at all.”  
“Well then you shall have us!” He declared with some gusto, he was certainly not on his first mug of ale. “And we will all ride for Paris in the morning, or whenever the roads are not so frozen.”  
“And when your companion can ride again?” Gwen asked.  
“Who, d’Artagnan? Ah, as much as he likes lazing about in bed playing at being wounded he’ll be ready when we tell him to be ready.”  
Plates of food were set down on the table on front of all of us, and conversation stopped for a few moments, because even Porthos knew not to try to talk with his mouth stuffed full of food, at least when a lady was at the table.  
“What will you do when you get to Paris Mme’selle?” Aramis seemed unable to bridle his curiosity. I have to admit though, that I was eager to hear her response as I had not dared ask the question myself.   
“I don’t know exactly. I suppose I will have to find a place to stay and a job to support myself.”  
“A rather spontaneous trip then?” He prodded.  
She grew quiet, her easy smile fading. I knew she was sorting through in her head what part of the truth she would be able to tell them, and how much needed to remain secret. I wished so dearly that I could speak for her, or at least take her hand, because I did not know the words to use any better than she did.  
“You needn’t interrogate the girl Aramis.” I said, in hopes it would give her the chance to keep her fears silenced. She smiled a small sad smile at us all.  
“Spontaneous, sadly, yes.” She dabbed at her eyes. Aramis’s face immediately fell, his eyes widening as he understood that he had trod on ground he should have left undisturbed.  
“I am so sorry Mme’selle. Athos is correct.” He looked at me, the same apology in his face as he had offered to her. “I should not be asking you all these questions, your business is your own.”  
“My family is dead.” She whispered. I don’t know if Porthos and Aramis could have even heard the words they were so quiet, but they already understood them. “I have nothing.”  
To Hell with the group around us I thought, I took her hand and squeezed it in my own. It seemed just then, so small and frail, when I knew in truth it was as brave as any that sat at the table.  
“You have me.” I told her.  
“And the two of us, and d’Artagnan as well.” Aramis added.  
“We will find you a place in Paris, and a family, if you will have us.” I told her.  
She blinked away her tears and shook her shoulders, swallowing those memories she had relayed to me once again, then nodded.  
“And I will keep Aramis from upsetting you Mme’selle.” Porthos menaced our friend with a growl.  
“You are all so very kind. But let us not speak of such sadness any longer, your food will grow cold, and Athos must eat. The bread we shared yesterday cannot have sustained him for long.”  
“It was the most wonderful thing I have ever eaten.” I told her. And in truth, it had been quite excellent.

 

I asked the innkeeper to ensure the fire in Gwen’s room was built up for her before I escorted her upstairs, and leaving her there I went to check on d’Artagnan, who as predicted, had been enjoying the rest and attentions of a parade of ladies. (It seems the Keeper had more than one female relative at work). He had been well fed, his dressings changed, and he was sitting up in bed looking out the small window. I knew of whom he was dreaming. Though he still appreciated the beauty of women, and put on the airs of interest (though not to the same degree as Aramis), his heart still belonged with Constance, even though hers had been chained with blackmail. I worried that he might never be free of her, though I had thought the same thing of myself and mi’lady, and it seemed that time and chance had somehow given my own heart a push. I hoped it would be likewise for him.  
“When will we ride for Paris?” Was the first question he asked me. I understood his desire to be home, but part of me sincerely hoped that the world would remain frozen for another few days so that we would be forced to remain at the Inn.  
“We shall see what the roads are like tomorrow, if it isn’t safe for the horses then we will have to stay another day.” I could see he was upset.  
“What of the woman?” He was still looking out the window.  
“She is here, safe.”  
“Will she be coming with us?”  
“She will; she needs safe passage to Paris.”  
“And after we arrive?”  
“I don’t know d’Artagnan. I truly don’t know.” I stepped towards that same window, letting my forehead rest against the cold, rough pane of glass. Perhaps both of us just then needed some kind of confidant, or perhaps it was just me? We held an odd conversation, not looking at each other, but understanding.  
“She can’t stay with Constance.”  
“I know, I would never do that to her, or to you.”  
“What happened last night Athos, in the storm, with her?”  
“We found shelter in an old hut.”  
“And in each other’s arms?”  
“Not in the way you are thinking, not last night.” I spoke slowly and with a great sigh from my chest.  
“But something about her has enchanted you, hasn’t it? I can tell. I know that haunted look, the way you are wearing your shoulders, and I know that feeling of acid in your gut.”  
“I didn’t plan for it d’Artagnan.”  
“We never do, do we? But at least she isn’t married. She isn’t, is she?”  
“No, she isn’t.”  
“Then you have a chance that I never did.”  
“Do I? I am a Musketeer just like you. I am not free to pursue a relationship. To say nothing of what our enemies might do to her to get to me.”  
“The Cardinal.” It wasn’t a question.  
“And others. We are hardly free. And perhaps she will not even want me.”  
“You are the best of us all Athos. Go to her. Ask her yourself what she wants.”  
“And what do I offer her?”  
“Your arms, your smile, your heart, if she does not already have it.”  
“And how did you get so wise d’Artagnan?”  
“By watching you.”

Porthos and Aramis had returned to the room they were sharing with d’Artagnan, well in their cups and ready to burst into song. I excused myself, none of them were at all surprised, or confused about where I was going. The only question I supposed they had was whether I would spend the night in her room, or in the tavern, drowning my memories and myself once again. I took a deep breath and knocked on her door waiting in the darkened hallway for her favor. She opened it just a little, and upon seeing me, opened it wider. As I stepped in I saw two things; that she was fully dressed, and that she had her blade in her hand. I put my two hands up so that she could see then, hoping that the blade was not for me.  
“I’m sorry Athos.” She put the blade down on the table. “The mind wanders at night.”  
“You needn’t apologize to me for that, I want you to be wary and to keep yourself safe when I cannot.” I reached for her hand. “I see you are also still dressed. I like that.”   
“You do?”  
“I do.” I grinned, “It means that I may have the pleasure of undressing you.”  
“Perhaps that pleasure will be all mine?” She countered.  
“I will endeavor to make it so.” And with that I pulled her into my arms and kissed her soundly, anxieties forgotten for a time.  
Fortunately she was not all done up in corsets and crinolines and though I took my time it was not arduous freeing her from her laces. I had thought to remove my sword belt and my boots before going too far this time. Exposing her décolletage I took the opportunity to press my mouth to the quivering skin there, feeling her fingertips working to find my bare skin. In only a little time there was nothing between us but anticipation.   
The warmth of the fire felt good on my skin, as did knowing that any shivers were the product of pleasure and not cold. She was bolder than the night before, running her hands over me, kissing me, taking my hands in hers and drawing each finger across and between her lips as I watched the gleam in her eyes. I had to be inside her, there was no way I could resist or restrain myself any longer. She arched her hips to take me, meeting my needs and fueling them. Her cheeks flushed, her lips parted and though she was silent, her hitched breaths spoke everything to me. I slowed just enough to kiss her deeply, lingering over her mouth, trying to impart every passion I was feeling with the touch of my lips and their pressure against hers. Only then did she moan deeply for me, and with a tremor that shook my body from my toes through to my head, I gave myself to her. 

Once we were still I held her securely against my chest, my hands wrapped around her belly, nuzzling the back of her neck, listening to the crackling fire and breathing in the scent of her and I and that room. There was nothing else in the world right then and it was bliss to have that respite. I felt her move to cover my hands with her own and just turn her head a little towards me.  
“I want to ask you something Athos, but I don’t know if I should.”  
“Please ask Gwen, there is nothing you cannot say to me.”  
“Can you, would you stay with me tonight Athos? Must you return to your friends?”  
“There is nowhere that I would rather be tonight Gwen, but by your side.”   
She curled into me further, her chest rising and falling regularly against my arms. I could feel her relax.  
“Good.” She whispered.  
“May I ask you a question then?”  
I felt her nod.  
“What is going to happen when we get to Paris?”  
“How do you mean?”  
“You wanted to lose yourself in the city, hide away. Is that still your intention?” She did not answer me right away.  
“I don’t know Athos.” She turned in my arms so that we were face to face. Bringing up a hand she brushed her fingers over my cheeks and my lips, staring at me so deeply that I would have thought she could see my worries laid open. “A day ago my answer would have been an easy ‘yes’. But it seems that so much has changed with only a few heartbeats, at least for me. But of course I cannot presume to know your wants or desires.”  
“Much has changed for me as well.” I whispered, leaning forward to kiss her. It was quite likely that I wasn’t keeping my desires particularly concealed from her.  
“I cannot imagine never seeing you again.” She said to me, my guts rolled a little under my skin.  
“Nor I you. But I will respect whatever your wishes are.” (Not that I had to like them, or not try to argue against them a little.)  
“My wishes,” she mused. “It has been a long while since I have considered those. At least it seems like a long while, I suppose it has only been a few days hasn’t it?”   
“What do you wish for Gwen?”   
She sighed so deeply I could feel her sadness as if it was my own.  
“I wish that I could divest myself of this curse, that I could find a home, occupy myself with a profession, and live a long, uneventful life according to my beliefs, until the secret of the Cathars dies with me.”  
“Will you let my friends and I help you with this?”  
“I do not wish to put any of you at risk Athos.”  
“We are at risk every day that we wear our uniforms and walk from our garrison.”  
“But what must your friends know of me then, to offer me this help?”  
“As much of the truth as is relevant; no more than you have already divulged; that your family is gone, and that as a single woman you are a target for scoundrels and rogues. Who better to help you than a bunch of scoundrels and rogues with a mandate, and with swords and muskets?” I grinned at her, hoping to lighten the serious mood that had fallen over us.  
“I want to try Athos, but I will not risk your life. My own means little any longer, but yours, yours now means everything to me. If I am discovered, if you are threatened, I will run. I cannot have another death, your death on my conscious.”  
“It will not come to that. I have proven to be quite hard to kill.”  
“It sounds as if there is a story there?”  
“More than one, I shall tell you all of them once we reach Paris. Please, put aside your doubts and your fears, trust me.”

Part Four

The morning brought sunshine and Porthos and I ventured out just after a fine breakfast of porridge to check on the road. Though the air was not warm the sun promised much and it seemed as if, given a few more hours, the weight of our horses and ourselves would certainly provide a safe ride back into Paris if we took it at a reasonable pace. We checked on the horses, who were being quite well cared for in the stables, and then returned to our companions, waiting for us in the tavern. D’Artagnan had even pulled himself from his bed and was enjoying a late meal. Aramis and Gwen were talking as d’Artagnan shoveled the porridge into his mouth. I could see that she was keeping herself and her appearance close, sitting with her back to the room, her cloak drawn over her shoulders, disguising her shape, her glance resting upon Aramis’ face. Porthos and I were not quiet in our entrance, and I sat myself down beside her; not jealous exactly of the attention she was giving him, well, not completely.  
“Hello.” I whispered to her, brushing my hand along her arm beneath the table where no one could see the motion. Her set shoulders relaxed just a little.  
“How are the roads Athos?” Aramis asked.  
“By midday we should be able to make our way back to Paris. Unless another storm appears.”  
Part of me wanted another storm, a week’s worth would have been just fine, to spend more days in her presence, in her bed. But I knew that we needed to return to Paris, and to our duties. I couldn’t be so selfish. So, after a good lunch we settled our debts and settled our places on the horses we had left. Aramis had his mount, a new one was acquired for Porthos, d’Artagnan took up Gwyneth’s, for hers was gentle against his stitches, and she rode with me. The ground was littered with fallen boughs, just as the land around the cottage of our first night in the storm had been. High above us were continuing ominous cracks as laden branches sprung back as their ice coatings melted, and breaks previous held together by the ice were exposed.   
We carried along carefully, her body pressed to mine, rocking against me with every step. Though I held the reigns my arms stayed wrapped around her body, holding my cloak around us both, her hands resting on my thighs, my desires unmistakable against her body. I chanced to press a few quick kisses against her neck, only to hear her whispered voice, just audible over the hooves.  
“I want you so much.”  
A shudder ran through my body. I swear, if the others had not been around us I would have halted that horse, pulled her to the snow and had her right there, so great was my desire, and so muddled my senses.  
“Where did you come from?” I whispered on a stuttered breath.  
“Languedoc.” She said.  
“You know that isn’t what I meant.”  
“Yes.”  
I kissed the back of her neck again, lingering just a little, I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. Of course I had felt arousal before, even lust and the stupidity that comes with it in youth, but this, this was so different. I felt as if I was waking up from a long sleep; like the anger that had been simmering beneath my skin for so many months had been dispelled. It made me feel just a little afraid.  
“Is it wrong that I should tell you the truth Athos?”  
“No, of course not, it is just that I have never met a woman so bold as you.”  
“Should I play the coquette, or hold my tongue?”  
“No, please don’t. Forgive me, it’s just so unusual to hear such things from a woman.”  
I urged my horse a little ahead of the others, to ensure that they were not party to this conversation.  
“So unusual that a woman would understand sexuality? That she might seek out the pleasure of it like a man?” Her words gave me pause, in a delicious sort of way, and were not reproachful or hurt, but presented more like a debate, such as I might have with Captain Treville. It was yet another level of excitement to this burgeoning relationship.  
“The way I was raised, women had as many rights as men, the right to lead, the right to control their lives, the right to pursue relationships as they saw fit, the right to their bodies. Lovemaking is a gift from God, not a sacrament granted those who pay the fees of a priest and stand before him. Could you believe in this Athos? Or do you think me a whore?”  
“No, no, you are not a whore, you have the bearing of a lady.”  
“And the words of a?”  
“A woman. One I find myself quite inclined to believe in.”  
She rested herself back against me.  
“But if I might ask, if you were raised so liberally, why am I the first lover you have taken?”  
“Just because one has the freedom to control one’s body does not mean that it should be shared it with just anyone.” She ran her hands further up my legs, my heart began to race. “Besides, I had four brothers, no one was good enough in their eyes, and I know how to defend my virtue because of them.”  
“God, you are amazing.”

 

The citizens of Paris were likewise cleaning up from the ice storm, those who had warm enough vestments to venture outside into the cold, or those with little choice. Chimneys billowed smoke and windows were coated with varying degrees of ice, depending upon the warmth of the buildings they fronted. At least the streets of the city had been well travelled by horse and carts and were quite free of dangerous ice. With every step towards the garrison though, my gut began to twist into knots, I knew that Gwen could feel the tension in my arms as I held the reigns more tightly, her fingertips brushed over the corded muscles there. I had sworn to protect her, but suddenly I wasn’t certain how I was going to accomplish that.  
The gates of the garrison were wide open, as they usually were during the day, and the structure itself seemed to have faired quite well through the storm. A booming voice rose from the second story catwalk as we brought our horses into the courtyard and began to dismount.  
“Well, I had wondered if you four were going to return.” Captain Treville was assessing the sight of us from just outside his office. “And what have you done to d'Artagnan?” Porthos was helping the youngest of us dismount. The Captain had developed a fondness for the lad, seeing his enthusiasm, and his skills with a blade in defense of his brothers and his king. The Captain came down the steps.  
“I’m fine Sir.” d’Artagnan told him, still clutching his side, the ride, though slow, could not have been easy, and I could imagine the pain d’Artagnan was keeping to himself so as not to appear weak before the other men.  
Aramis came over to my horse and offered a hand to Gwen, to help her slip gracefully from the saddle.  
“I trust you men completed your mission.” The Captain asked.  
“Of course Sir.” I followed Gwen to the ground and pulled a small packet of letters from my satchel, still sealed, and handed them over.  
“And you seemed to have acquired a guest as well?”  
“May I introduce Gwyneth, of Languedoc. We encountered her on our return. Gwyneth, this is Captain Treville.”  
Gwen curtsied quite gracefully.  
“I am no noble Madame.”  
“But you must be,” she began, “to command such men as these who have rescued me from highwaymen and brought me safely to Paris.”  
“Ah, so there is a story besides the storm to account for your delay, and not involving Aramis, how unusual. Up to my office gentlemen, and lady, and I will hear it.”  
I had known Captain Treville a very long time, though I knew very little of his personal history. He had always been my Captain, and before that, if the tales were to be believed (and I saw no reason not to) he had been an exemplary Musketeer, the bravest of the lot, prepared to sacrifice everything for King and Country. Indeed, again, if the stories were to be believed, he had made great sacrifices, ones that he still wore on the lines in his face and the shadows under his eyes. But above all else, I had known Treville as a fair man, one prepared to listen to reason; and if not always able to act upon it, at least to act in its best interests.  
“So.” He settled himself behind his tidy desk, the letters still in his hands. “What excitement have you come upon during this trip?”  
Aramis pulled out a chair for Gwen, the rest of us stood around her, even d’Artagnan, though he more leaned against the inside wall of the room.   
“If I might good sir?” She asked.  
“Of course.”  
“I have no knowledge of the travels of these men before they came upon me, Athos shall have to recount those tales after I have left for I imagine they are of some political importance, and not for the ears of strangers.”  
The Captain nodded slightly, I could see that her good bearing was beginning to capture his attention as it had captured ours.  
“I had been making my way to Paris, when I found myself surrounded by four men who sought to rob and kill me.”  
“You were travelling alone?”  
“Not a wise move, I understand now Sir. It was not a planned journey, but undertaken with some haste.”  
“I see.”  
“Your men heard my screams and came to my aid, dispatching the men and saving my life.”  
“Give yourself some credit Mme’selle.” Aramis added. “She killed one man herself as he sat astride her horse with a knife to her throat.”  
“Impressive.”  
“D’Artagnan was injured defending me, and the horses were scared off by the melee or the oncoming storm, I cannot say for certain. Your Porthos and Aramis saw to their friend while Athos and I searched for the horses, having little luck I am sad to say. He kept me safe for the night, amidst the ice until Porthos could come back for us.”  
“As she was travelling in the same direction as we were,” Aramis seemed determined to defend her to the Captain. “It seemed prudent that she accompany us.”  
“I was very grateful for the escort Sir, I hope you do not feel that I have inconvenienced your men.”  
“The King’s highways must be kept safe, I am glad that my men were there for you Mademoiselle. Now perhaps you might give me leave to speak with them for a few moments?”  
“Yes, of course.” She stood.  
“D’Artagnan, will you take the lady down to the commissary please, see to warm drinks and a meal for her?”  
“Yes Sir.”   
It was perhaps more Gwen helping d’Artagnan out of the room and down the stairs, but I at least felt that she would be safe, in the midst of the garrison, among my brothers. No one would dare draw a sword against her here. I relaxed just a little, though not enough to leave me completely unprepared for the Captain’s questions.  
“Who is she Athos?”   
“Just a traveller.”  
“Riding alone?” His tone of voice concerned me.  
“She was forced to flee her home, her father and brothers were murdered in front of her.” Porthos and Aramis turned to look at me as I made that revelation. I hoped Gwen would forgive me for sharing this secret. But to have Treville on her side would be an asset.  
“Did she give you a surname?”  
“No, I hadn’t thought to ask for one.”  
“And she said she had managed a journey from the Languedoc region all the way to Burgundy unmolested?”  
“Yes.”  
“And you don’t find that just a little bit odd Athos? You two?” Treville looked at me, then over to Porthos and Aramis in turn. If their expressions were anything like mine then I imagine we were all beginning to feel a little sick, me perhaps more than the other two, considering what I, what we had done.  
“What are you trying to say Captain?”  
“Did you consider that she might be a spy, sent to feign distress, to draw you into her subterfuge?”  
“But we saw her attacked, saw her kill one of them.” Porthos was trying to justify our actions.  
“She would not be the first spy to sacrifice a compatriot for the greater good.” Treville certainly understood subterfuge and sacrifice.  
“Did she ask you any questions about your mission?”  
“No.”  
“Perhaps questions about the King and the court?”  
“Nothing like that. She only asked if I knew Paris well enough to find her a place to live, and work.”  
Treville pursed his lips together and nodded; not that I understood what he was thinking.  
“Keep an eye on her then Athos. I will not take chances with the life of the King and the security of the crown.”  
“Of course Sir.” My answer was numb.  
“I have to deliver these letters to the King then.” He stood from behind his desk. “Find her a place to stay and let me know if she does anything suspicious.”  
We left the room before he did, I’m not sure how I made it down the ice covered stairs without losing my balance completely, so muddled was my head, not to mention my gut. Could I have truly been so deceived? I could not, did not want to imagine it.

Part 5

I felt dead inside. Collecting her from the commissary with only a nod to d’Artagnan,( the others would fill him in, and he would form his own opinion) I guided her away from the garrison and onto the winter streets of Paris. She followed me without question, and I hated that every thought I had of her was suddenly tainted. There was a convent near us, there were many around the city. This one, populated by a charitable order, would provide sanctuary for Gwen with few questions and open hearts. It would give me some time to think, some time to discover the truth.  
I explained the situation to the sister who met us at the gate, and without hesitation she brought us into the chapel, going to fetch the superior.  
“Athos?” Gwen’s voice was small, her eyes questioning me. “What is happening?”  
“You will be safe here until I can find you more permanent accommodations.”   
“I am to be imprisoned then?”  
“No, this isn’t a prison Gwen.”   
She didn’t seem to believe me and sought the honesty I suddenly found I couldn’t give her.  
“Something has changed Athos. I can see it in your face.”  
“No, nothing has changed.” I tried to reassure her but I knew I wasn’t convincing.  
“Please don’t lie to me Athos.” Her eyes were beginning to tear up, that beautiful shimmer made my heart ache.  
“It is just that I have my duties, my oaths to the crown.”  
“And you have begun to feel regret. Perhaps you have a mistress or a wife here? I am an embarrassment, nothing but a whore you must now forget.”  
“No! You are not a whore, don’t ever use those words to describe yourself. I have no wife, no other but you.” At least that was the truth.  
“What is to become of me then Athos. Will you just forget me?”  
“I have promised to keep you safe, I will do just that. I beg you for your trust Gwen.”  
She did not have the chance to answer me as the Mother Superior came into the chapel. She greeted me warmly, her hands clasped around her Crucifix. I made my request that she allow Gwyneth to remain within her walls and under her protection for a few days, as she was new to Paris and a member of my extended family. She agreed as I knew she would. In short order we were escorted to a small room, containing a cot, and fireplace and a small writing desk.   
“I shall send a sister to fetch you for meals my dear. Otherwise, our home is yours, please feel free to avail yourself of the chapel or the common rooms as you wish. The garden, I am sorry to say, is quite covered with snow, and perhaps not such a respite as it is in the summer time, but the kitchens are warm, and may provide work for idle hands should you so desire.”  
Gwen nodded, seeming as in shock as I was at that point, just holding herself back from tears, or anger, I could not be sure of which.  
“I will leave you a few moments then. But only a few Monsieur, we will be expecting you at the gate.”  
I thanked her and she did leave us alone.  
“I am so sorry.” I whispered.  
“How long shall I wait for you Athos? A day, two? Or shall I simply scale the walls and disappear: please do not doubt that I can do this. There are many trees in the garden that will give me clearance to the walls, and the mounds of snow will provide a soft landing.”  
I hated that she had already made her escape plans from me.  
“I will be back tomorrow, I swear it.”  
“Is your oath to me as solid as the one you have given to the crown?” Her voice wavered as she said it. Tears, yes she was on the verge.  
“It is.”  
“Will you kiss me then?”  
I hesitated when I shouldn’t have and she turned away from me, not fast enough that I couldn’t grab for her arm and turn her back. I pulled her into my chest and kissed her roughly, with desperation, forcing my tongue into her mouth, clutching at the back of her neck to keep her close to me. She answered, thank God, she answered me.  
I was going to hell, one way or another.

I stormed back to the garrison, angry at everything and went straight to where I knew there would be alcohol and lots of it. I passed a few of my brothers as I grabbed up a bottle and planted myself in a dark corner of the room, no glass required. The spirits burned as I gulped them down, but I felt I deserved the pain, and I craved the oblivion. The bottle, only half full to begin with was quickly dispatched. Another was set before me with a thud. I looked up.  
Nicolas was his name, a wiry looking man, his ginger hair and beard looking a little unkempt, his cheeks hollowed, his left arm tied up in a sling, another bottle clutched to his chest by the bandage. He’d been injured in a skirmish a few weeks back, the muscles of his arm cut so deeply that he had lost the power in his hand. It seemed that his healing was still ongoing. Or had perhaps progressed as far as it was going to. The drink was helping me face the possibility of losing Gwen, but his, his was the possibility of losing his commission, his honor, everything that defined him. He walked away without a word.

 

I didn’t wake up with a hangover, likely because I hadn’t actually slept that much. I had spent the night tossing and turning in my bed; remembering how her body had felt next to mine, how it had been to be inside her and wrapped up in her, and then how it had felt to have the Captain throw all those feelings into disarray. I was no fit company for anyone just then, so I dressed and went out into the streets. As much as I didn’t want to do it, I had to see if there was any place for Gwen to rent, and any jobs she might be able to take up. And I couldn’t very well go door to door asking; it would draw unwanted attention. There really was only one person I could speak with, and I hated to it. Waiting until her husband had left for his shop I knocked on Constance’s door and hoped that she would open it to me.  
“Athos? What’s happened? Has something happened to d’Artagnan?” She ushered me into the house quickly, looking nervously about at the small courtyard to see if anyone was observing us.  
“Nothing has happened to him Constance.” I chose not to tell her he had suffered a sword wound; there was nothing she could do about it, he was on the way to healing, and there was no point upsetting her. “I need to ask you a favor, I swear, if there had been any other way, or anyone else I would not be here.”  
“What can I do to help you Athos?”  
“As odd as this is about to sound do you know if there are any local shops or landowners who are in need of help right now?” She began to laugh at me, the tension fading from her shoulders.  
“Looking to leave the Musketeers Athos?”  
I had to laugh as well, God it felt good, almost normal.  
“It isn’t for me, I have,” I paused, “A friend, new to Paris, alone and in need of a job.”  
“Let me think, it’s winter so there isn’t much farm work right now, and the markets are rather sparse.” She wrinkled her brow and pursed her lips together as she considered the options. Then she smiled, “I have it! The baker. He’s developed a palsy.” She covered her mouth, “goodness, I shouldn’t be so excited about that, I’m sorry, that must have sounded terrible.”   
“Not at all, I promise. Please tell me more.”  
“A few weeks ago he had an attack, he’s elderly to begin with, and he and his wife have no children. She’s had quite a time attending to him and trying to keep up with the baking. I’m afraid she’s going to lose the shop, and him at the same time. I stopped by with some soup the other day; it’s easy for him to eat. She’d really like to just take him out to her sister’s farm but she hasn’t the money for the transportation and the doctor. If your friend might be able to provide them with some money?” She shrugged her shoulders and lifted her eyebrows.  
“I’ll see to their transportation myself. Thank you Constance.” I took and kissed her hand, bowing to her. “You have been such a help. I will take my leave of you to go and tell her.”  
“Athos? Will you, could you tell d’Artagnan that I was thinking of him?” her easy smile became sad just then; and I understood completely.  
“Of course I will, and thank you again.”  
I went straight to the bakery.

 

“You did what!”  
“Keep your voice down!” I hissed in response to d’Artagnan. He had sought me out upon my return to the garrison and I had admitted the truth of my visit to Constance. He was displeased, but I was not prepared to take his wrath in the courtyard where others could see us. I resisted the urge to grab him around the arm and haul him off, and mindful of his still healing wound I encouraged him (with a bit of a hiss) to join me in a more private venue, the stables, where, thankfully, the hands were absent in pursuit of their luncheon.  
“Why would you involve her in this?” He asked, none too kindly.  
“Well I couldn’t very well go shop to shop asking if they had need of help could I?”  
“Well no, but wasn’t there any other way?”  
“Not that would be so expedient. And I promise you d’Artagnan that no one saw me at the house, I stayed only a few minutes, and I was the perfect gentleman. And Constance told me to tell you that she still thinks of you.” That softened the anger in his eyes.  
“How did she look Athos?”  
“She looked well d’Artagnan, sad, perhaps, but healthy.”  
“And what about Gwyneth? The others told me that Treville thinks she could be a spy? You don’t believe that do you?”  
“I don’t know d’Artagnan, I don’t want to believe it.”  
“You don’t want to believe it, or you don’t believe it?”   
I had no answer for that.  
“Good God Athos!” d’Artagnan admonished me for that hesitation, but truly no more than I was torturing myself. “Has she asked anything about the garrison, about our missions, about the King?”  
“Nothing.” I conceded.  
“And not of me either. And I know that you have knowledge that you cannot share with us about her past, like that fact that her family was murdered. I know you Athos, if it were anything that could harm the King you would not dismiss it. She may have secrets, but I do not believe they are sinister.”  
“At least not as far as the Crown is concerned.” I admitted.  
“Then why the hesitation?”  
“You know exactly why.”  
“MiLady?”  
“I took her to my heart and she murdered my brother, tried to have me killed many times, used you, worked for the Cardinal as a spy. If I could love one spy and not know it, then, why not another?” I stalked around the small space like a caged animal looking for escape. D’Artagnan stared at me as I did so, remaining quite still.  
“At least you admit it.”  
“What, that I am a poor judge of character?” I threw up my hands.  
“That you are in love with her.” I stopped pacing and wheeled on him to see him grinning at me.  
“Damn you d’Artagnan. What am I going to do?”  
His smile was maddening.  
“Well, you are going to start by getting her set up in that Bakery.”

 

I was quite late getting to the convent; there had been many details to work out and I needed to ensure that when I brought Gwen back to the garrison that we could enter undetected and do what needed to be done. The sisters did not seem too keen to see me at their door after vespers, but we had always been allies, (the cardinal not withstanding) and the Musketeer uniform granted some measure of respect and so I was granted admittance. Gwen was in her room, sitting in front of the small fire, the blanket from her cot wrapped over her shoulders. She didn’t even look up as I entered the room, having received her permission after my knock.  
“Gwen?”  
“I didn’t think you were going to return.”  
“I promised that I would.”  
I watched her dab at her eyes with the corner of the thin blanket. I could see the sorrow in her shoulders and the curl of her back.  
“I have news.”  
“You had best tell me then.”  
I dropped down to my knees beside her, my sword belt rattling against the stone floor. But I dared not touch her, I did not feel as if I had the right just then.  
“There is a bakery, close to here, the owners would be pleased to sell it to you for a fair price.” I hoped that she might see something positive in the proposition.  
“I could bake.” She whispered.  
“If you can bring the gold we will go to the smithy and melt it down and recast it so that it will not be recognized for anything but the metal.”  
“We can leave here? Tonight?”  
“Yes, tonight, we will steal into the garrison and free you from this precious curse.”  
I knew what it would mean if we were caught, it would be proof in the eyes of Treville that she was a spy, and that I was colluding with her. Even the truth would likely do little to spare us. But it was the only forge I had access to, and a proper one would be needed to melt gold. I questioned even bringing her into that part of the plot, but I couldn’t very well simply ask her to give me her gold, and then steal into the night with it. The renewed glow in her face as she finally looked at me steadied my heart to the task I had set for the both of us.  
D’Artagnan met us at a little used doorway placed near to the garrison kitchens. He took gracious thanks from myself and from Gwen as we crept through, wrapped in winter cloaks. I shook his hand and bid him return to his quarters, not wanting him to become any more complicit in my activities than he had to be. I took Gwen by the hand and pulled her towards the unoccupied smithy. The forge was still warm, and I added fuel to it, seeing the glow catch quickly. I was not unfamiliar with the operations required to melt metal and reshape it, having learned to forge balls for the muskets. Gwen, having grown up around a smithy easily assembled the supplies we would need. I knew our smith had small molds for ingots, it was not uncommon for him to store metals that had no immediate use in such form. Those type of ingots could easily be traded for the coin of the realm, and lost to history entirely. I asked her for the pouch, which she handed over with no hesitation and I dumped the coins into the crucible. All save one.  
I had been thinking all the while I had waited for the night to fall and the tradesmen to leave their posts for dinner and rest. As much as Gwen wished to hide her connection to the Cathars and avoid the complications of their secrets, if it came down to denouncing her as a spy, or a heretic, I would have trusted Captain Treville to see that an ancient sect, long dead, would offer little threat. He certainly would not have been motivated by the promise of treasure, he was a man well above that. I needed to assure that proof still existed. It was yet another lie of omission that I was committing, but hoped that Gwen would understand; I intended to tell her everything once she was safely away in her bakery, and more kindly disposed towards me.  
We watched the gold begin to melt as I worked the bellows under the fire, striving against the winter for heat. It was not a quick process, at least as far as my nerves and hers were concerned. It seemed as if her eyes darted about the building in the silence with her head snapping at every intrusive creak and thump. Mostly it was the weather, sadly, not all of it was. I heard the bolt on the door begin to shift, and shoo’d her into the shadows as I went to intercept whomever it was.  
“Athos?” The voice of our smith was confused. “I saw the smoke rising and wondered what was happening, I was certain I had extinguished the fire.”  
“Forgive me Fastus. I needed to make use of the building and your fire this evening.” I truly had no idea what I was going to say to explain myself, I only tried to block him from coming any further into the shop.  
“What do you mean Athos?”  
Gwen spoke for me, from the shadows.  
“Darling?” Her words were spoken slowly, with a soft lilt that bespoke of passion. “Close the door, you’re letting all the cold air inside. You know I don’t like to be cold.” It was not a matter of fact statement, it dripped with possibilities. Was she really doing what I thought she was?  
Fastus’ eyes went wide as he looked into the darkness, and then back to me.  
“You brought a woman here?” He whispered.  
I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, it is the warmest place I know.”  
“The Captain will have your head Athos.”  
“Who do you think gave me the idea?” I curled up one corner of my mouth, hoping to pass off another lie as fact. Fastus’ shook his head at me.  
“I might have believed this of Aramis.” Then he paused. “No, actually, he would have found some salon somewhere.” He sighed. “Athos? Just, don’t leave a mess or anything okay? And don’t make a habit of this.”  
“I swear, this will be the only time Fastus, thank you.” He left, shaking his head, and I closed the door behind him, noticing that my hands were actually trembling.  
“He’s gone Gwen.”  
She pulled out of the shadows a bit to look at me. Her eyes were as wide and frightened as the pounding heart I was sure was trapped in her chest; the same as mine, though not for the same reason. I heard the deep exhale and knew I couldn’t go on the way I had been.  
“That was brilliant Gwen, I am so glad that you were able to think so quickly, you’ve saved both of us.” I wanted to pull her into my embrace but she stood before me with crossed arms, protecting herself.  
“Tell me the truth Athos, please.” She pleaded.  
“Captain Treville thinks you may be a spy.” My voice was flat, I couldn’t even look her in the eye as I said it.  
“What?”  
“Don’t blame him, it is his duty to protect the crown.”  
“Yours as well.” She whispered.  
“Without being able to explain why you were running to Paris, why your family were murdered I had little to defend you with.”  
“Why would you not tell me this Athos?”  
“Because I thought that you would leave, and I could not bear the thought of never seeing you again.”  
“Then what am I to do Athos?”  
“Nothing.”  
“I’m sorry?”   
I knew my response was confusing.  
“Nothing, prove him wrong. Buy the bakery, make bread, maybe some sweets, go to the market, be friendly with those whom you choose to let into your life. Stay away from gossips, be kind; give him no reason to suspect anything.”  
She nodded as I spoke.  
“Am I to be alone then?”  
“No, there is a man, another Musketeer, he will not be able to retain his commission because of an injury to his left arm, I would like to ask him, and the Captain, to have him come to stay at the shop with you. He can offer you protection; he is still skilled with a sword, and he is honest. The Captain will see him as a spy sent to watch you; and of course he will find nothing to report, which should put these accusations to rest. And I will come to see you, and I will share whatever affections you might still have for me after all of this.”  
“Oh Athos.”  
“Will you forgive me?”  
“There is nothing to forgive. Let us finish this task here tonight before your smith changes his mind, and put this plan into motion.”  
“Hephaestus is a good man, he will give us this night.”  
“Your smith’s name is Hephaestus?”  
“Let it not be said that we Musketeers are without humor.”  
“Indeed.”  
She leaned towards me and kissed me soundly on the mouth. 

Part 6

It must have been the most interesting sight the denizens of that little road had ever seen. Four Musketeers loading a wagon full of personal possessions, settling a lovely elderly couple, a pillar of that community, upon it, and then it rolling away with Porthos behind the horses. He had become our unofficial driver. Aramis took up a post beside him, to ensure everyone was delivered safely to their new home; and to protect the sum of money they carried with them; some telling of that had likely made it out to the neighbourhood. Gwen had retreated indoors to see what her father’s legacy had provided for her. I stayed outdoors with Nicolas for a few moments.  
“Thank you Athos, for this.” He had packed his personal possessions from the garrison (a small bundle, but I suppose mine were just as meager), the pack sat at his feet.  
“It wasn’t just me.” Captain Treville had endorsed the plan heartily, as had Gwen.   
“You’ve helped me save my honour Athos. I will never forget that.” He held his hand out to me and I took it.  
“Then just take care of her for me, please.” I whispered.  
“Is she a spy Athos?” His voice was equally as hushed.  
“No.” It felt so good to say it out loud and to feel so sure of it.  
“Then what is she to you?”  
“Whatever she will have me be.”  
“Gentlemen?” Gwen had opened the door to call to us. “You should come in out of the cold.” Both of us were pleased to agree.  
The building still smelled of warm bread and sweet yeast, and the oven, stoked to begin its task kept the air warm around us. Gwen seemed at home, even after so short a stay, and her smile played at my heart.   
“Nicolas, there is a lovely room here at the back, it’s warm, and has a window, and I wondered if it might suit you?”  
“Please lead the way Mistress Baker.” I liked that name very much. Gwen seemed to enjoy it too as she blushed a little and let her eyes turn down to her feet. For a moment I felt a ripple of jealousy. Where I would be expected to return to the garrison each night, Nicholas was free to remain; in her home, in her presence, to be able to speak with her, and smile with her for hours. I hated that I could think in that way about a brother. When Gwen returned to the main room of the shop I tried to push any evidence of it from my face.  
“He seems pleased.” She told me.  
“So do you.”  
“I am, I could not have hoped for such circumstances a few days ago. I feared that I would be left to hide in some dark corner of the city, without friends, without prospects. Instead I have been given a new life, and happiness.” She reached out to take my hands in hers.  
“May I show you upstairs?”  
My hands trembled at the invitation and I hoped that she had not noticed.  
“But what of Nicholas?” I certainly was not the type of man who wished his intimacies broadcast to others not matter how sharp my desires.  
“He is going to go and fetch some things for dinner, I expect he will be gone for a little while. Will you wait with me?”  
The room she had chosen for herself was furnished with a bed suitable for two, a washstand, a small desk and a cupboard. The previous owners had been so kind as to leave bedding, which Gwen had spread out over the mattress. I closed the door behind us, daylight filtering in through the handmade curtains, enough to see her beauty and enough to see the question upon her face. I left my cloak and sword belt in the shadows and came to her, reaching out to pull the pins from her hair, drawing the strands free and laying them upon her shoulders. She turned her face into my palm, closing her eyes, and parting her lips to take quickening breaths.   
“I feared you would never forgive me for leaving you behind those days Gwen.”  
“Let us not succumb to fear any longer Athos.”   
“I would rather succumb to you.” I whispered as I brought my mouth to hers, brushing across her skin, feeling the warmth of her breath, the heat of her tongue against mine, the depth bringing on the trembling once again. My fingers fumbled for the laces at her breast, pulling until they came free, I felt her hands against my chest, tugging at my shirttails until we were both in a rough state of undress. I had to touch her, brush my fingertips down her breasts, curling my palms to feel their weight as my thumbs circled over their centers. I could feel her heart beating beneath them; or at least I deluded myself that I could. Perhaps it was only my own, echoing in my ears? I bent my head to her, kissing her shoulders, gently urging her backwards where the bed beckoned me. The mattress beneath us was soft, the room warm despite the winter, the only shivering coming from where our bodies finally touched.   
She ran her hands over my back, coaxing me to her, I marveled at how well our bodies fit together, almost as if it were preordained. With her height her head could curl right into my neck, my lips able to press kisses against her crown. I could wrap an arm around her shoulders while at the same time holding the other over her hips, keeping us locked together, her swells linked into my body. Her hips rocked against me, stroking the length of my desires with her own. I could not resist the temptation, or was it an invitation? Her body was ready for mine and mine for hers and I entered with a long, slow thrust. I cradled her into me, and yet at the same time, she held my body within hers, the muscles of her sheath clutching at me, every stroke eliciting pure physical pleasure. It took a great deal of self-control on my part not to quicken my pace, not to work against her with the feral desires that screamed at me. But I wanted the moment to last as long as it could.   
Her back arched to meet me, matching my pace, taking the length of me with delicate cries moaned into my shoulder. I tangled my fingers into her hair, not to hurt her, but to keep her close to me, and I kissed her over and over, wherever my mouth met her body. Tension built in my core, robbing me of logical senses, my breathing became hitched, muscles across my body tightened. I could not speak, but she knew, knew what was happening to me, and clutched at me harder, forced her hips to mine and pushed against me as I gave myself to her with a wave that forced my collapse. It was she who held me afterwards; her hands drifting over my body as our mutual hearts slowed their racing beats.   
We stayed in silence for a few minutes; not wanting to break the spell we had woven in that room. I listened to her breathing, reveling in the proximity of her body to mine, not letting my mind wander to anything but that moment. But life, sadly, always seems to interrupt those interludes; not always in the worst ways though.  
“I could never have imagined that I would find paradise here with you Athos.” She whispered. “You make me forget my sadness when we are together. You make me want to live again. Am I silly to say that?”  
“No, not silly at all.” I kissed her softly and repeated it, as much for my sake as for hers. “Not silly at all.” 

As she had predicted, Nicholas gave us great deal of time alone together, it was bliss, but it had to come to an end, especially when Porthos and Aramis returned from their travels with the now empty cart. Gwen was busy filling a stew pot with the fowl and root vegetables that Nicholas had sourced. Aramis produced a skin of wine from somewhere (I was later to learn it had been a gift from the farmers where he had dropped the old baker and his wife). The bakery came to life with the smells of a rich dinner, and the sounds of men laughing, accompanied by the peals of Gwen’s voice. The wine was shared (by all but Gwen) and stories began, of battles, and conquests and then of myths and fairies. The sun was well set by the time we finished, and I, somewhat inebriated, swept Gwen into my arms to dance as the others sang bawdy songs. I am certain we made a less than excellent impression on the neighbors then, although, we were still Musketeers, and our presence had to instill some measure of safety to the little street.   
Apparently the one skin of wine had not been an orphan, not that Aramis had told anyone, the drink just kept getting passed around the circle seemingly bottomless. Nicholas finally retired to his bed, while Porthos and Aramis made themselves quite at home on the benches surrounding the table we had taken our meal at. My honest intentions had been to return to the garrison, but I certainly could not haul my friends to the back of the cart and return with them in such a state. No, it was far more appropriate to wait until morning, and so I accompanied Gwen back upstairs, and back into her bed. 

I opened my eyes slowly, in truth I did not want to. My nostrils were full of the scent of baking bread and it brought back memories of a much simpler time, of a life that I had left behind and burned to the ground. The cooks in the manor house would always rise before any of the other staff and well before my parents and my brother and I did. Warm bread would be waiting from the ovens when we broke our fast, fruits, and cheeses or preserves adoring the table alongside the loaves. It was obscene, the luxuries we had then. But it was a good memory; God, I was happy then as a child; without a care in the world. Could anyone blame me for wanting to recapture that, for even a few moments? Gwen was not beside me when I rolled over, but it was easy to guess where she was. I dressed slowly and went downstairs.   
My companions were already at the table, likely because they had fallen asleep there and couldn’t continue that sleep as Gwen busied herself with preparing for the day. They looked surprisingly well all things considered. The grins on their faces were a good sign of their recovery. I joined them, asking after Nicholas, who was absent.  
“He went to return the cart, I expect him back shortly.” Gwen answered, the other were too busy stuffing their faces with the fresh bread.  
“And what will you do with yourself today then?” I asked her.  
“I shall have Nicholas take me to the market and I will arrange to stock the shelves here again so that we may open for business on the morrow. And there are some things that I will need for myself.”  
“A busy day then?”  
“I hope so. It will keep my mind off other things.” She put a plate down in front of me, her hand brushing over mine. “I suppose that you all will be returning to the garrison then?”  
“We have to.” My voice was flat. I had been dreading that pronouncement. She smiled at me, understanding.  
“But you will return to see me soon won’t you?”  
“I will.” Porthos declared. Aramis smacked him on the arm.  
“She means Athos idiot.”  
“I would be pleased to see you all, and your friend d’Artagnan as well, whenever you wish.” She answered. “My home is your home, it always shall be. But before you leave, perhaps you gentlemen could give me just a moment with Athos?”  
“Of course. We’ll wait for Nicholas out front.”  
When they were out of polite earshot Gwen took my hands.  
“I know that you have your duty Athos. I know that these nights we have had together have been a gift, a precious one. Those memories shall keep me warm and happy when I lay alone.” The tears glistened in her eyes as she spoke. “Until you can return to me.”  
“They shall do the same for me.” I pulled her to my chest and held her there tightly. 

 

The Captain was none too pleased with the three of us for our prolonged absence. We weren’t so much confined to the barracks, at least not officially, as we were discouraged from leaving them; at least for a few days as d’Artagnan finished healing. I took the opportunity to work out some frustrations training with my blades. It finally came to Porthos and Aramis sparring against me as a team, I clutched my sword hilt so tightly and swung with such power that when I made contact with another piece of steel the vibrations worked their way up from the blisters on my palms to my shoulders. The ache I felt in them when d’Artagnan finally pulled me back to my senses was extreme.   
“You are acting like a fool.” He whispered harshly in my ear. My arms went slack. He was right. I was a fool, a lovesick, jealous fool.  
“I’m sorry.” I told him, then repeated that apology to my other friends.   
“Time for a drink I think.” Porthos answered. “And perhaps you can tell us more about what is going on in your head?”  
“Once I figure that out for myself Porthos, I will be happy to share it.”  
“You are in love.” Aramis said. “And love makes fools of us all.”  
And then we were brothers again, for truly, we all did know the truth of Aramis’ statement, we had all ached for love, some of us still did. I had just come to the party a little later than the others.  
“I think I could use that drink.”

It was a miserable few days, and a lonely few nights as we stayed in the garrison, awaiting new orders, practicing with a little more control when the light allowed for it, wrapping myself in my blankets, closing my eyes and remembering how it felt to hold her when the darkness fell. I thought of so many things I should have done, gifts I should have given her, substantive things that I should have said that would have proved my love even if I couldn’t announce it. Finally, as another snowfall began Treville called us to his office.  
Looking me over in particular, The Captain seemed to ponder his own sense in summoning us. But, sitting behind his desk, knitting his fingers together he finally spoke his chosen words.  
“Get out.”  
He didn’t mean it in an angry way, quite the opposite. He qualified it.  
“D’Artagnan has had enough time lazing about, and you Athos are destroying my practice blades. Fastus looks at me oddly every time I go down to the smithy to ask him to replace them, and we are running out of port. So get out, go on patrol, make sure that the King’s peace is being kept. And for God’s sake, don’t get into a fight with any of the Cardinal’s men will you?”  
“Can’t promise.” Porthos whispered, earning him a dirty look from Treville.

Part 7

The snowfall had coated the ground and the rooftops again; we hardly seemed to have a break from the spoils of the season, but at least it wasn’t more ice. The very landscape surrounding Paris looked as if it had been cut down by a giant with his scythe, trees laid to the ground in a haphazard pile that would take decades to regrow. The ground crunched under our feet and we met only a few people as we walked our patrol. Most citizens remained indoors, we saw smoke curling from chimneys into a grey sky but my mood was far from grey. Our walk did not take us directly to the bakery, and that was my preference. I knew that once I saw her I wouldn’t wish to leave again to conduct a proper patrol, and I still had a duty to my King. We checked in on our regular haunts; since many of them were also haunts of the Red Guard, but it seemed that those men were not so fond of venturing out into the cold. Only after an hour of assuring ourselves that Paris was safe from everything but the weather did we turn towards her home; I could feel my heartbeat beginning to quicken with every step, and I sincerely thanked God for the wool cloak that hid my face and some of my anxiety.  
A bell rang over the door as we entered, I did not recall that having been there before, but there was little need for it just then as Nicholas was sitting at the front as guard, a chess board before him on a small table, a cup of cider or tea at his right hand; it had a heavy aroma of spices about it whatever it was. He looked more relaxed than I could recall seeing him in the last few weeks since his accident. It was good to see. He stood to greet us as Gwen came around from the back. She looked stunning.  
She was not in a gown, her hair wasn’t woven into some intricate braid, bedecked with flowers or ribbons, and she had no jewels about her throat, no, nothing like that. She had an apron tied over a plain blue cotton dress, a smudge of flour down her right cheek, strands of hair come free from the loose knot she had pulled it into, secured with a bone pin against complete unraveling. The smile she wore was more beautiful than any diamond or emerald. And I was utterly smitten again.  
“My friends. How wonderful to see you all again. And you d’Artagnan, you are well? I have just made some tea for Nicholas, something to help him heal. Will you take a cup?”  
She spoke so quickly it was almost humorous, but the note of nervousness concerned me. She motioned to d’Artagnan with an outstretched hand.  
“Please take a chair, perhaps you can play some chess with Nicholas. He has been so dear in trying to teaching me, but I fear I am more consternation than competition for him.”  
“Nonsense Mistress, you are learning very quickly.”  
“He is too kind.” She apologized to us all, unnecessarily, disappearing into the back to pour another cup of the tea. Upon her return she pressed it into d’Artagnan’s hand.  
“I used to make it for my brothers, they were always coming in hurt from their chores and their sparring.” Her voice became quiet, and then I saw the little sheen of tears in her eyes. “They always told me it helped them feel better, though perhaps they were simply humoring me?”  
“You are very kind Mme’selle.” D’Artagnan bowed his head to her. “Your kindness itself helps my healing.”   
“I owe you my life. Could I offer any less? In fact, I will go in the back and wrap up some sweets for you to take home with yourselves.”  
“Let me help you.” I needed to speak with her alone, something was wrong and I needed to know what it was. I followed her around to where her kitchen was, and the large table we had feasted at only a few days back. Once clear of the others I felt freer to speak.  
“Gwen? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come around before this.”  
“I understand.” She whispered, quite cautious of the houseful of men just beyond the partition wall.  
“Please tell me what has you so upset? Has something happened with Nicholas?”  
“No, no not at all, he has been kind and a wonderful provider. I don’t know how he does it, but every time he goes to market he returns with fine food, apples, meat, things I would not have thought would be easy to obtain. He does not drink here and he barely leaves my side; only to go to market. He deals with all the other merchants who bring my flour and yeast, and even found this dress for me.” Again she spoke rapidly and nervously. I took her hand in mine carefully.  
“Please tell me Gwen?”  
“Athos, I have no right to this.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“My family are dead, left in the ashes of my home, the gold that killed them has given me this bounty, has brought me to you. What right do I have to this Athos, to leave them and their memory hidden so that I might benefit?”  
“You must carry on for them Gwen, that is what they would have wanted for you. This bounty is what your father wanted for all of you, even if his attempt to procure it was ill-chosen.”  
I pulled her into against my chest and held her, hoping the tears that rimmed her eyes would be stayed by the action.  
“Forgive me for this melancholy Athos.” Her voice wavered, “I feel such guilt for this happiness.”  
“There is nothing to forgive Gwen, you have every right to feel as you do. And I shall do everything in my power to convince you that you should not.”  
I felt her shake her shoulders with a little sad laugh and heard her deep slow breath follow it as she gathered herself, likely for my benefit, prepared to change the subject of our conversation.  
“Your friend Constance came by. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, she asked after you all and seemed so sad when she spoke your names.”  
“Did she just come to inquire about us?” I feared that Constance would open old wounds for d’Artagnan and appreciated Gwen’s discretion.  
“She said she came to meet me, and she bought some bread from me, and invited me to attend church with herself and her husband this Sunday.”  
“And what did you tell her?”  
“I said yes, what else could I do? I must not be seen to be anything but pious and virtuous in the eyes of my neighbours. But I feel like a fraud.”  
“You are a good and virtuous woman Gwen. And God is always God, no matter what building we worship him within, or how we come to him.”  
“I wish you could come with me Athos, on Sunday.”  
“Monsieur Bonacieux is not so well disposed to Musketeers I’m afraid.”  
She nodded sadly, I did not know for certain if she understood the reasons for his disdain, or if she was only accepting my seeming denial of her request.  
“I will be there for you if you wish it Gwen, even if I may not sit at your side. I will find you, and I will wait for you. Be assured of that.”  
I could not leave without kissing her once.

We walked back to the garrison with a few parcels of cakes that Gwen had wrapped in cloth for us. Once we had turned a corner and the bakery was no longer in sight d’Artagnan handed me a folded piece of paper.  
“What’s this?”  
“Nicholas gave it to me to take to the Captain.”  
“What does it say?”  
“I don’t know; he’s sealed it.”  
I cursed under my breath, perhaps not as quietly as I should have.  
“There’s nothing to worry about Athos.” He tried to reassure me, “he’ll have nothing to report. Besides an unexplainable affection for you, Mme’selle is a perfectly normal girl with no designs on the crown.”  
“Well thank you, that makes me feel much better.”  
“We’ll deliver it together.” He told me.

The Captain was still in his office, and with the four of us watching he took and opened the letter. He read it over silently then laid it down on the desk.  
“I suppose you gentlemen aren’t about to leave until you know what Nicholas has reported?”  
“No sir.” I answered.  
“Well you had best read it then.” He pushed it across the table to me.  
‘Captain Treville,  
Mademoiselle Gwyneth Baker has given me no cause for concern about her motives for coming to Paris. She demonstrates herself to be well spoken about household things, kind, shy of strangers, and an excellent cook. She participates in no gossip though women have tried to engage her, and she asks no questions about matters of the crown. Indeed the only questions I have heard her ask are ‘how may I help you’ and ‘may I have some of these please’.  
I remain in your service, and will continue my mission for as long as you require it of me.  
Nicholas’  
I breathed a great sigh of relief.  
“For now it seems all is well then with our new baker. Perhaps I shall have to pay a visit to the shop myself.”  
“You won’t be disappointed Sir. She is a marvelous cook.” Trust Porthos, always thinking of his stomach.

 

The scent of incense and candle wax was thick in the air as I slipped into the Vestibule and made my way along the west Transept, looking for a familiar form amongst the gathering of winter cloaks and woolen head coverings. I did not want to make a spectacle of myself, threading though people in search of her. It seemed more prudent to take a seat at the periphery and to let God himself guide me where he saw fit. I have to admit to not hearing a great deal of the sermon, or to participating in the hymns. I was speaking to God in my head; though I was not deluded enough to think he would speak back to me.  
I asked why she had been brought into my life, I asked if I should give my love to her, or if she would be better served by my absence. I asked if I was worthy of her, if I had anything I could offer her any longer beyond the warmth of my body. I had no home, no name, and no riches. There was land, but nothing upon it, and I was not free to return to it, not really. Was I too selfish, wanting to keep my arms in defense of my country, and also keep them wrapped around her? Was I a coward? When the call came for communion my legs felt like lead as I took my place; only the glimpse of her cloak and the blush of her cheek a dozen people ahead of me, helped me to move them. I don’t know that she saw me then, but perhaps she had, because once the service was concluded and I had faded into the shadows I watched her thank her host and hostess and move away from them towards the banks of votive candles, I followed after a moment.  
“You are so beautiful.” I whispered as I slipped in beside her, entwining my fingers in hers in the dark of the alcove.  
“Thank you for coming Athos. It was such a comfort knowing you were here.”  
“Will you light candles for your brothers and your parents here?”  
“I would like to, I don’t think God would mind, do you?”  
“I think he would be pleased. Should I leave you to your peace to pray?”  
“Please stay. I fear I will lose my nerve if you do not.”  
I squeezed her hand very tightly to offer my reassurance, then reached to retrieve five candles for her as she dug through her little purse for some coins to deposit in the box. We both watched as she held the wicks to the eternal flame; the unblemished white cotton enveloped by the orange glow, contracted by the heat as it was consumed, finally to join the overwhelming force and take to the light. One at a time each was thusly transformed and set in the rows with reverence and silent prayer, my own joining along with them. Their smoke rose to Heaven, our words along with it.  
I offered to walk her home knowing that I would not have taken (or had expected) a ‘no’ as an answer. She took my arm and drew herself to my side, giving her the opportunity to hide herself away once again. I was only too happy to wrap her in the edges of my cloak and guide her away from the crowds. She said nothing till we were safely behind the doors of her shop and alone. She asked if I wanted tea and shaking hands put water to boil as I hung up our cloaks and rekindled the fire in the fireplace.  
“Where is Nicholas?” I asked, noting that he had not appeared when we had returned, nor had he been waiting for her at the church doors.  
“He wished to go and see his people, and I knew you would be there for me at the Church so I gave him my blessing. He will be back this evening.”  
“You knew that I would stay with you until then?”  
“I hoped you would.”  
The warmth of the fires began to thaw our bones and perhaps our guarded hearts just then. I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her belly, burying my face into her hair and kissing her softly at the nape of her neck.  
“I feel empty without you Gwen.”  
Her hands covered mine and I felt her sag into me. I gratefully bore her weight.  
“Oh Athos. I live for these moments when we can be together, however scant they are. The memory of your arms sustains me when I feel doubt.”  
“And what would you doubt?”  
“I had my concerns that the bread and wine might burst to flame on my lips today.”  
“Nonsense, you are still a Christian, a child of God are you not; as entitled to the sacrament as any of us.”  
“I have been raised with such confusion Athos, I pray that you are right.”  
“How could someone as kind and loving as you be seen as anything but worthy?”   
“If I was worthy I would have offered you a meal by now, I am certain that the bread and wine have not sustained your body as properly as your soul.” She turned in my grasp to come face me.  
“You are worthy, but all I wish from you now, if you would be so kind as to gift it to me, is a kiss.”  
“And nothing more, just a kiss?”  
“Oh, I would have a great deal more.”  
“Then we shall begin with that kiss.”  
Delicate fingers brushed down my cheek, her eyes looked into the center of my soul and with parted lips she came to me, a soft contact that turned into pressure and then passions. I had known how much I had missed her, but I had not expected how desperately my body craved that which it had lacked. My hands locked around her, my mouth fought for purchase, my tongue tasted the fire within her and ached for more. The water for tea was left atop the stones and we took the stairs up to her bedroom, her in the lead. The warmth of the fire had not yet reached the upper environs but I paid it no mind, and neither did she it seemed.   
I loved undressing her, revealing her body from underneath the shawls and overskirts, down to the cotton shift that clung to her breasts, heaving along with them. I tossed my own vest and shirt away as I revealed her, hoping my hands were warm enough as I finally touched her bare skin. She reached for me, tugging at my waist to bring me nearer, it was so easy then to tangle my arms around her keeping her in my grasp, as I kissed her over and over; those kisses deepening as her fingers slipped beneath my waistband, forcing my trousers over my hips and to the floor. I had to take her to the bed.  
Laying down amongst the soft sheets I hid nothing from her, my desires were obvious, and tender as I brushed my skin along hers. But I was not prepared to let this precious, intimate time slip away in an instant. No, I had plans, memories to make, to sustain the lonely nights to come.  
“Do you trust me?” I whispered into her ear as I nipped at her neck.  
“I do.” It was all I needed to hear.   
Instead of just letting my hands roam over her breasts I followed delicate fingertips with my mouth, kissing, suckling and tugging on her breasts, not to hurt, but to arouse. The faint moans were tantalizing, furthering my needs and I drew my tongue down her breastbone, fingers blazing the trail, hands settling upon her belly. I felt her hips buck against me. I wanted her so much but I held back, at least in terms of my own gratification. Taking a deep breath, because I noticed my hands beginning to tremble, I laid a final kiss against her skin and let my palm drift over her soft mound. I held it there still for a few breaths, making certain that she would not object to that very different intimacy. I could almost feel the pounding of her heart in my ears but she did not pull away, only let one hand tangle itself in my hair. Emboldened I let my thumb part her, cautiously drawing it over her most tender spot, meeting the evidence of her arousal in heat.   
She bit her lower lip, her eyes closed as I began very slow circles over her, increasing the speed and pressure as I felt the tension build in her skin and muscles. The tender mewling gained fortitude, and it fanned my own flames to please her. Myself, I was hard as a rock as she began to shift against not only my hand, but my body.  
“Athos.” Her voice was barely a whisper, fighting against the breathlessness I hoped I was bringing to her. It wasn’t a question, or even a plea, just the most beautiful, pure mention of my name I had ever heard. I wrapped my free arm around her, holding her close to me. For a moment her body went completely limp in my arms then tensed in a nearly frightening spasm as she cried out for me, her head lolling back against the bedding. I watched her recover herself, her body now fairly shimmering beneath mine. I dared not touch her, except to run my fingers over her cheek to assure myself of her well-being.  
She placed her hand over mine, the sweetest smile lighting her lips, a flush over her cheeks. Her eyes looked liquid into mine.  
“Please?” She whispered. I took that as my permission and very carefully slid my body within hers. I knew she would be tender and exhausted, but she surprised me by holding me loosely, her arms draped over my waist as I moved against her. It took only moments till my own release overwhelmed me over, I fought to keep from collapsing upon her, and instead rolled to lie beside hers, ensuring I stayed within her arms without crushing them. I kissed her mouth tenderly, lingering to taste her and share her breath as I ran my fingers through the strands of her hair, now pulled free of the knot she had tied it in for church. I don’t know why I said it, I don’t suppose I had intended to right then, still being unsure if I should place the burden of those words upon her, but looking at her face, feeling the way I did it made the words no less true for their spontaneity.  
“I love you.”

 

Winter fully enveloped Paris, and France as a whole before Advent concluded and threatened to stay through Christmastide. Families remained indoors and those without such comfort, within their favorite haunts with their favorite libations close at hand. Because of the festivities the Musketeers were called upon daily to accompany the King and the Queen, sometimes together, sometimes separately to church services and events at court. Nights were long, and some mornings quite early, especially in the service of the Queen, who despite her advanced pregnancy insisted upon continuing her charitable works. When her baby did arrive her personal guard would finally have a rest; those of the palace guard slated to be doubled, or perhaps tripled. No doubt the Cardinal would be a constant presence (with his Red Guard) as the rites were performed to bless and welcome the future King or Queen.  
We had a few chances, my brothers and I, to check in on Gwen, but never extended visits, time simply did not permit. The shop seemed busy, and had become a bit of a gathering place itself, for there was usually someone stopping in to play chess with Nicholas and to stay for some tea. I was pleased to see that though she herself remained quite demure, that Gwen was becoming a fixture in the community she had joined, at least within the walls of the bakery. It gave me some peace of mind when we were away, and as December waned our duties waxed. Indeed, it was Christmas Day when we were finally released from our duties and made our way to the Bakery, not unexpected, we had arranged to assemble for dinner and I had seen to it that the butcher had delivered a goose for Gwen so that our four extra mouths were not a burden on her.  
I could not have known, as we four made our merry way down a snow-dusted street, that two very different surprises would change my world that night. Indeed I had been considering how much it had already changed in only a couple of months, since Gwyneth had appeared in it. I considered that I was not unhappy, though I craved more time with her. I had achieved some type of balance that kept us both safe from unwanted attentions and suspicions. She seemed likewise content in her situation. I had few concerns (beyond those I had always had), and was prepared for a peaceful evening.  
The door was unlatched as we entered, the scents of the cooking foods assailing us and starting our chests to thaw and our appetites to rise. Gwen came from her kitchen, a smile on her face, her apron strings wrapped under her breasts, her hair tied back with a ribbon. Quite done with niceties at that point I took her in my arms and kissed her before even removing my winter cloak. She laughed at me, and I tasted that hoped for happiness against my lips. Her body was soft in my embrace and I held her for longer than I should have, though no one spoke any admonishment against us.   
She settled us all with wine cups around her kitchen table as she busied herself with assembling the feast. As each platter was set before us I looked in wonder at her. How she had managed to put it all together all by herself I had no idea. Breads, vegetables, preserves, there was barely space for plates. We were nearly ready to sit when there was a knock at the door. Confused looks were shared by all present, and we rose to see who beckoned so late on the holiday. It was I who reached the door first. Imagine my shock at finding the face of my Captain staring back at me when I swung the door open.  
In the instant between seeing him and offering a greeting a thousand things ran through my mind. Had he come to question Gwen, on a holiday, when there would be few others around? Or had he decided to simply arrest her as a spy? Had Faustus discovered the truth of our visit to his smithy? Was the Captain here to escort me to the cells? Had something else happened? Had the crown been attacked?  
“Sir?” I hoped my voice did not reveal the panic I was feeling in my chest.  
“Athos.”  
“We had not expected to see you this evening. Is there an emergency, do you need us?” My mates had crowded around me.  
“No, nothing like that Athos.”  
“Then?”  
“Athos, please,” Gwen came up beside me, her voice was shaky but the tone determined, if quiet. “Please Captain, won’t you come in out of the cold?”  
“Thank you Madamoiselle Baker.”   
I stepped backwards as he entered, holding my breath against what he might say next.  
“Forgive my intrusion to your celebrations.” He began.  
“It is no intrusion Captain, it is I who have been remiss in not extending an invitation properly.” She answered.  
“It is just that Nicholas continues to rave about your culinary skills, as does Porthos, and my Musketeers seem to make any excuses to come by the shop.” He looked us over. “Do not think I haven’t noticed, or sadly, envied the parcels you return with.”  
We all looked down at the floor then feeling our own guilt.  
“I was thinking of such things this evening, as I sat in my cold office, pondering the meal that our capable cooks had no doubt prepared to nourish us and I thought that perhaps I might just escape their talents for one evening and make my way here.”  
“And you will join us for dinner, yes, yes, I am so sorry for such an omission. Please come and sit and Aramis will pour you some wine; your men will have to attest to its fitness as I myself do not drink.” Gwen began to bustle about again and reached to take the Captain’s cloak. She had another place set before Aramis had even poured the cup of wine.   
Gwen set the massive bird at the center of the table and set the carving knives before the Captain before we all bowed our heads for the blessing. I spoke the words on her behalf; I had never discussed with her if such things were her custom. I asked for blessings upon the house, blessings for the food before us, and blessings for those about to partake. Finally we began to eat, and to drink, and to laugh. What had, moments before, been quite tense, relaxed to a family of misfits who told stories and paid compliments, and enjoyed the scant rest we were afforded that day.  
I should have perhaps known that I was not deserving of such peace of mind.  
When our meal was finished Nicholas brought out his chessboard and the others gathered around the fire in the main room. I helped Gwen to clear the table and stayed at her side; my absence seemingly unnoticed by the others. That was fortunate as she took my hand in hers, and tugged me towards the stairs. I was happy to follow her. Sitting down in her bedroom, the door closed to the men below, she smiled at me. It was a sad, odd sort of smile, wholly different than the ones that had graced her face all evening.  
“What is it Gwen?”  
“There is something I must tell you Athos. I had thought to keep it secret from you for a while longer while I assured myself of it, but it doesn’t seem right.”  
“You have me frightened Gwen. Please tell me what it is? Have I cause to worry?”  
“I hope not Athos, You have said that you love me, and I must tell you that I am in love with you as well, though I suspect that you have known that for some time.” She brought our clenched hands to her mouth and kissed my fingers, one at time, lingering over my skin as she steadied herself it seemed. Then, flattening out my palm she pulled it down to rest atop her belly.  
“There is to be a baby.”

And so ends our season.   
I hope you have enjoyed this flight of fancy. Thank you to Monsieur Dumas for the creation of these characters and to the BBC for their latest modern incarnation.   
Thanks also to those of you who have taken your time to read this story.   
Merick


End file.
